"Verses Upon the Burning of Our House, July 18th, 1666"
by Anne Bradstreet
1In silent night when rest I took,
2For sorrow near I did not look,
3I waken'd was with thund'ring noise
4And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.
5That fearful sound of "fire" and "fire,"
6Let no man know is my Desire.
7I starting up, the light did spy,
8And to my God my heart did cry
9To straighten me in my Distress
10And not to leave me succourless.
11Then coming out, behold a space
12The flame consume my dwelling place.
13And when I could no longer look,
14I blest his grace that gave and took,
15That laid my goods now in the dust.
16Yea, so it was, and so 'twas just.
17It was his own; it was not mine.
18Far be it that I should repine,
19He might of all justly bereft
20But yet sufficient for us left.
21When by the Ruins oft I past
22My sorrowing eyes aside did cast
23And here and there the places spy
24Where oft I sate and long did lie.
25Here stood that Trunk, and there that chest,
26There lay that store I counted best,
27My pleasant things in ashes lie
28And them behold no more shall I.
29Under the roof no guest shall sit,
30Nor at thy Table eat a bit.
31No pleasant talk shall 'ere be told
32Nor things recounted done of old.
33No Candle 'ere shall shine in Thee,
34Nor bridegroom's voice ere heard shall bee.
35In silence ever shalt thou lie.
36Adieu, Adieu, All's Vanity.
37Then straight I 'gin my heart to chide:
38And did thy wealth on earth abide,
39Didst fix thy hope on mouldring dust,
40The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
41Raise up thy thoughts above the sky
42That dunghill mists away may fly.
43Thou hast a house on high erect
44Fram'd by that mighty Architect,
45With glory richly furnished
46Stands permanent, though this be fled.
47It's purchased and paid for too
48By him who hath enough to do.
49A price so vast as is unknown,
50Yet by his gift is made thine own.
51There's wealth enough; I need no more.
52Farewell, my pelf; farewell, my store.
53The world no longer let me love;
54My hope and Treasure lies above.
Lancashire, Ian. "Verses Upon the Burning of our House, July 18, 1666". Representative Poetry Online. March 17, 2008. http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/218.html
2For sorrow near I did not look,
3I waken'd was with thund'ring noise
4And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.
5That fearful sound of "fire" and "fire,"
6Let no man know is my Desire.
7I starting up, the light did spy,
8And to my God my heart did cry
9To straighten me in my Distress
10And not to leave me succourless.
11Then coming out, behold a space
12The flame consume my dwelling place.
13And when I could no longer look,
14I blest his grace that gave and took,
15That laid my goods now in the dust.
16Yea, so it was, and so 'twas just.
17It was his own; it was not mine.
18Far be it that I should repine,
19He might of all justly bereft
20But yet sufficient for us left.
21When by the Ruins oft I past
22My sorrowing eyes aside did cast
23And here and there the places spy
24Where oft I sate and long did lie.
25Here stood that Trunk, and there that chest,
26There lay that store I counted best,
27My pleasant things in ashes lie
28And them behold no more shall I.
29Under the roof no guest shall sit,
30Nor at thy Table eat a bit.
31No pleasant talk shall 'ere be told
32Nor things recounted done of old.
33No Candle 'ere shall shine in Thee,
34Nor bridegroom's voice ere heard shall bee.
35In silence ever shalt thou lie.
36Adieu, Adieu, All's Vanity.
37Then straight I 'gin my heart to chide:
38And did thy wealth on earth abide,
39Didst fix thy hope on mouldring dust,
40The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
41Raise up thy thoughts above the sky
42That dunghill mists away may fly.
43Thou hast a house on high erect
44Fram'd by that mighty Architect,
45With glory richly furnished
46Stands permanent, though this be fled.
47It's purchased and paid for too
48By him who hath enough to do.
49A price so vast as is unknown,
50Yet by his gift is made thine own.
51There's wealth enough; I need no more.
52Farewell, my pelf; farewell, my store.
53The world no longer let me love;
54My hope and Treasure lies above.
Lancashire, Ian. "Verses Upon the Burning of our House, July 18, 1666". Representative Poetry Online. March 17, 2008. http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/218.html
REFLECTION: Bradstreet appears to struggle with her faith in this poem; or she may be torn between whether or not she wants to acknowledge her faith, due to her misfortune. She goes back and forth in this poem. In some lines she wishes to hold her precious worldly possessions again, but at the same time she knows her eternal resting place is in heaven. If she grieves for her personal loss on earth, she will never earn her glorious home in heaven. Religion in modern times is not so limiting for most people. Not many can lose everything they own and still be happy with just their God. The world is too materialisitic for this type of poem to be reality today, especially in the United States.
DEAR DIARY,
During the night my home burnt to the ground, and before me lay my life reduced to ashes. It hurts me so, to see my hard work disentigrate into undistinguishable black soot. But I cannot admit such things; I should not think them. God has a final home for me which will not burn down. My place here on earth is not permanent therefore I should not treat it as if I am ruined forever. What He gives us, He can take away. Mourning the loss is defiance of his decisions; I must remain faithful and not call ownership to material items. For the ultimate life is after death if faith be my passage.
During the night my home burnt to the ground, and before me lay my life reduced to ashes. It hurts me so, to see my hard work disentigrate into undistinguishable black soot. But I cannot admit such things; I should not think them. God has a final home for me which will not burn down. My place here on earth is not permanent therefore I should not treat it as if I am ruined forever. What He gives us, He can take away. Mourning the loss is defiance of his decisions; I must remain faithful and not call ownership to material items. For the ultimate life is after death if faith be my passage.
The Question Is...What impact did the decisions and cultures of those who began the American community have on today's modern community setting and life as we know it?: Tragedies such as the one portrayed in the above poem happen frequently, and the internal conflict described by Bradstreet almost always follows. The amount of vanity among our people has ballooned to a rediculous volume, making losses all the more devastating. These early settlers foreshadowed aspects of our lives and were guinea pigs of sorts.
1 comment:
Jenna,
This poem is a very emotional one, and you definately captured that in your diary entry. You have some great writing skills when it comes to stepping in someone else's shoes. I almost forgot I was reading one of your writings. In addition, the reflection was very thorough, and so was the poetry chart. You analyze well. Your poetry chart was more thought out than any I've ever seen before. I might have to start doing that "other notes" sectioon at the bottom; it was brillent.
I would like to add that I really enjoyed your plymouth plantation diary. I think that was your best one yet. My only criticism is that I can't find the essential questions answers. However, I love your blogging so much. Keep up the amazing work!!!
~Jasmine Marie~
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